


Constraints

by TheVelvetOverhead



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVelvetOverhead/pseuds/TheVelvetOverhead
Summary: The Master Frumentarii always thought himself different—superior.Him? Getting carried away by his most primal instincts? That was for beasts and degenerates. After all, he had successfully subdued his carnal desires. His actions were solely driven by reason and intellect.That is, until he met a certain Courier.[Previously known as "Dominance"]





	1. Chapter 1

And there she was. “I'm Courier number Six. I have crawled out of my own grave and I'm looking for the man who shot me in the head. Who are you?”, he remembered. Did he expect to find her? Well, it had been him who had come to The Strip to deliver the Mark of Caesar to her; it would be ridiculous to say otherwise. Even so, Vulpes Inculta hoped his visit would be hampered by… well, by something. Any stupidity, any impediment, any foolishness. Anything to stop feeling those damned cannibal butterflies in his stomach, devouring his insides.

She was surrounded by her stupid companions. He held his breath. Yeah, right; whatever. After all, the Courier was like a kid. An unbearable big baby that required constant attention and could not be left alone. An innocent and ridiculous creature who believed herself safe for having the protection of Ambassador Crocker.

Vulpes shifted in his place, uncomfortable, and gritted his teeth. The only thing that was not safe was his own back, he could be sure of that. He cleared his throat and frowned, and then clicked his tongue and twisted his lips, trying to free himself from the tension that had built up in his shoulders.

So, there he was, in that den of corruption known as Gomorrah, with his back to the bar and his elbows resting on the grimy surface, watching from a distance. “I am Vulpes Inculta, of Caesar's Legion. I serve my master as the greatest of his Frumentarii,” he remembered answering back then. The mere thought of Nipton made the skin tingle on the back of his neck. He wrinkled his nose and stared at his drink. He took a sip and suppressed any emotion that might give him away. In fact, in that moment, his face held no expression whatsoever. Neither disgust nor repulsion. Not even that attractive and charming smile of his full of confidence; that one that said “I am Vulpes Inculta and I always get what I want.”

He was almost ready to think of another strategy to be alone with her, when the young woman got up from her seat and went to the bathroom. Vulpes did likewise and followed her, getting going.

 

##

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she spat, turning around and looking away from her reflection as she watched the figure blocking the front door. “It's the women's sink. You don’t know how to read or what?”

“How about you? Do you? I would be very surprised, considering what an illiterate whore you are,” he barked back, showing his fangs. “Of the NCR”, he failed to add. He didn’t consider it necessary though, it was already implicit in the venom that had flooded out his words.

The Courier wrinkled her nose, drawing an expression of displeasure on her face as if she was smelling shit. Nothing could be further from reality however; that decadent atmosphere reeked of cigarettes, sweat and sex. Outside the tiny toilet, the lounge was capped with voices trying to be heard, orders for booze, and catcalls at some of the girls dancing. It was disgusting and Vulpes tried to hold his breath. But just because he loathed that stench, okay? Not because he had been absorbed by her, watching how she re arranged her tiny and delicate headdress—her pale skin in contrast with her dark hair like midnight, falling like a waterfall down her long back.

Of course not.

  
“Well shit, I expected a more insightful comment,” she rolled her eyes. “Especially coming from _Seeezar’s_ untarnished and greatest _fruuumentaariiii_.”

She mimicked him, remembering their encounter in Nipton and speaking in the most atrocious accent he had ever heard. Whether it was deliberate or not, he didn’t care. In fact, Vulpes didn’t even flinch at the annoying mockery. Instead, he leaned against the door, blocking the entrance with his arms crossed. All without uttering a single word. He had chosen to ignore her along with her witless comments.

“The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. He admires your accomplishments and bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark,” he spoke, using a dull, monotonous tone of voice. He then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, searching for the precious silver chain. “My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. This Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through—”

“And that’s it? Really?” she cut him off, still fixing her hair as she did. “Did you follow me to the bathroom just to spout nonsense?” she huffed and took a lipstick from her handbag. “No. No fucking way,” she said, her gaze fixed on the rouge of her mouth, “and if you don’t have anything else to say, you know where the door is.”

Vulpes opened his mouth and closed it again, looking exactly like what he indeed was: a fish out of water. He tried to voice his thoughts without success. Now confusion reigned in him. Or was it anger? He clenched his fists, placating the torrent of emotions that welled up in his chest. What the hell was he doing? And why had the Courier refused his gift? He had been pretty confident with his invitation, but as soon as the girl had answered he cursed under his breath. “Shit,” he had cursed, that’s what he had just done. He had made use of the inferior language of the profligates. “Shit,” he repeated. And it made him want to hit himself. Since when had he become so vulgar?

He looked at himself, contemplating his reflection in the mirror. Who he was or what he was doing there was no longer important; Vulpes could only pay attention to those lips—so thick, full and swollen—as if someone had sunk their fist into her mouth.

The legionary narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. Well, he wished he hadn’t, he really did, but the sudden moisture on them indicated otherwise. He snorted, inhaling profusely through his nose, and returned to reality. Meanwhile, the Courier continued ignoring him. Was she stupid? Didn’t she understand her own language or what? Well, anyway, it became clear to him that she had the same intelligence and attention span as a four-year-old child.

Finally, he sat up and approached her silently, as if she were his prey and he wanted to pick her bones clean. It made him want to hit her, to stamp her face against the mirror and tear it to shreds so he could stop looking at the vivid expression on his face. Like that, without any consideration. Overall, first impressions had already caused havoc between them. In the end, he left the Courier alone, allowing her to continue putting on makeup like a cheap whore if that made her happy.

“Don’t make me repeat it again, woman,” he grabbed her by the wrist and turned her body in a hundred and eighty-degree arc. The Courier had to place her free palm in the sink to avoid falling. “Caesar will not extend his mercy a second time.”

“And what if I say no again? Then what?” she clenched her fist, digging her nails into her own skin. She gave him a defiant look and stood up, approaching him—rebuking him, challenging him—forcing him to strengthen his grip. The Courier didn’t soften her expression, not even an iota. She shortened the distance between them, her torso almost touching his and her perfume teasing his nostrils. _Two could play that game_ , she seemed to think with that provocation. “What do you plan to do then, _oh greatest Inculta_?”

The question was clear and simple, but the answer was even more so. **Nothing**. He couldn’t do anything about it. Worst of all? She knew it; she had already given away his game. Caesar wanted her in one piece, alive and kicking. And Vulpes couldn’t do anything, even if he wanted to. At least for now.

He separated the lips a few millimetres with extreme difficulty. His face had been reduced to a formless grimace and his mouth was dry. He was breathing in fits and starts, the low rush of his breath mingling with her own. Vulpes lowered his gaze and found that the darkened pools of the Courier's heavy-lidded eyes were locked on his own.

“You make me want to kiss you and spit you in the face at the same time,” he groaned, his cold eyes fixed on those grotesque—and so terrible appetizing—lips. “Both options are equally unpleasant for me.”

His hand sought hers. And she gave in, intertwining her fingers with his, feeling them strong and warm. She blinked and parted her lips. And so, for a moment, the Courier believed that something was going to break inside her and that she could close her eyes to her own convictions, to those that had forged her. She blinked again, twice, and looked down upon noticing cold metal against her palm. She felt his fingers clutching her fist, forcing her to accept the damned Mark.

He breathed against her lips and their chests touched. He let her go, pulling away from her immediately.

“Caesar awaits. And his patience is not infinite. Do not forget.”

He left the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. His nostrils flared with rage. He proceeded to go somewhere else that was not full of whores.


	2. Chapter 2

The desert air burned his lungs, bathing them with fiery steam. Vulpes opened his mouth and inhaled, noticing the dryness flooding his mouth. Sand jets like milled glass were swept away by the desert breeze, sticking to the skin and eyes, gathering in the dry corners of his lips.

He coughed, feeling the heat slide down his throat, scorching his stomach. He frowned and scratched himself, creating thin whitish furrows along his skin. He hated that scorching sun, that desert and, above all, that vulgar uniform with the bear embroidered on the chest. He clenched his teeth at the thought and dug his nails into his arm, plunging them into his flesh. He hated that thick, stifling fabric and the way it brushed his skin, but, above all, he hated everything it represented.

He pressed his lips together and adjusted the brown scarf around his chin, camouflaging his face from that hostile climate. He stared at the sky and fixed the goggles around the bridge of his nose, hiding those cold and characteristic blue orbs. He narrowed his gaze, settling it at some undefined point to the right, visualizing the clear image of the Courier stored in his memory. It had been only a week ago in Fortification Hill. It had taken her about two months to appear, but eventually, the stupid cunt showed up. And for what? What his lord had not counted on was the whore’s haughty attitude. The way she moved, the tone in which she spoke, the way she looked at all the legionaries... Her status as a woman did not matter to her in the slightest; in fact, it reinforced her presumptuous and eccentric performance. She had treated everyone with contempt, regardless of their rank or position. Self-centered, egoistical and a walking smirk—she was willing to make use of her power and influence to achieve her purposes.

Arrogance seemed to be an innate part of her nature, or at least that was what the ungrateful woman wanted people to see. The Courier was in fact quite convincing in her role of Guardian of the Wastes, a much better actress than most of his men. But Vulpes knew better; he wouldn’t have made that far had he not been the best at his job, right?

Ridiculous and deceitful, that's how he saw her. Strangely enigmatic and disdainful to the core. Foolish and unpleasant, insolent and stupid; but definitely more cunning than any woman he had met in recent years.

Unconsciously, his mind jumped from one point to another; from one week to several months ago, from the Fort to the baths of Gomorrah, from the angry face of Caesar to those plump lips of her. He squirmed, dissipating those ordinary thoughts with irritation. Vulpes knew perfectly well that he was different— _superior_. Him? Getting carried away by his most primal instincts? That was for beasts. Unlike degenerates, he had freed himself from the common corruption and successfully subdued his carnal desires. Now, his actions were solely driven by reason and intellect. He was the greatest of the Frumentarii after all.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled him away from his thoughts. He frowned, his annoyance hidden by the face wrap, and glanced over the soldier in from of him. _Ah, yes, Frumentarius Picus_ … And, then, back to reality.

Basically, the Courier’s intentions regarding the Legion hadn’t been entirely clean, so Caesar had decided that his turn had come. It was the moment in which Vulpes’ presence had become indispensable for the whole affair to have an outcome according to his Lord’s plan. So, there he was, playing the profligate soldier game in the enemy's nerve centre, Camp McCarran.

“That woman is looking for me,” Picus whispered, his voice dripping with anxiety. The one that was supposed to be his Captain in the enemy’s eyes rested a hand against the wall that gave them shelter and some shade, as if it were the only stable pillar in his life. “This place… It’s driving me crazy… I don’t know when it was the last time since I slept for more than an hour or two at a time.”

Vulpes continued to observe him in silence, his eyes inexpressive, like a death mask. Had there been an iota of vehemence on his face, he would surely have rolled his eyes and raised his eyebrows at the man’s flagrant weakness. They were in one of the camp’s multiple nooks just outside the terminal building but given the lack of intelligence and excessive confidence of that handful of dissolute amateurs, the Master Frumentarii was not afraid to be spied on.

He narrowed his eyes as a grimace stretched at the corner of his mouth. Picus was like an open book, the expression on his face reflecting his feeling of anguish and everything that crossed his mind. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eye sockets tiredly. “I directed her to Contreras, but I don’t know how long it will take her until—”

“Until what?” Vulpes barked, raising his voice slightly. “Until that whore blows your cover? That’s what you wanted to say, _Captain Curtis_? Have you forgotten that you belong to Caesar’s elite?”

He stared at him, disgust seeping from his eyes. Picus watched him apprehensively and with babbling lips. He didn’t say anything else. He just sighed, staring at the ground and sinking his calloused fingertips back into his cheekbones. And so, for the first time in his life, Vulpes watched as one of his men doubted his own abilities. Something had cracked inside him, allowing fear to filter through that dark and fresh rift. It was unimaginable and unthinkable; totally absurd.

And yet, for a tiny moment he seemed to understand the situation. After all, he had already witnessed what the Courier was capable of.

He sighed and sat up. "Keep me informed," he mused in a thin voice that was barely perceptible. “Ave, true to Caesar.” Then he got back on the road, walking in Picus’ opposite direction, mixing with the rest of the Bear’s nameless grunts.

 

##

 

Tick. Tock. Vulpes looked at the ham radio on the table and watched the night sky through the large window of the control tower. After his meeting with Picus, the Master Frumentarii had decided to get to the bottom of the matter. Taking advantage of his cover, he had spent the day observing her movements, every step, every flutter. She reminded him of a Queen Bee in the radiant centre of the hive. Always on everyone’s lips, always in the spotlight craving for attention. If his inquiries were right, the young woman would soon scupper all their plans.

He rested his hips on the surface and watched the clock for the umpteenth time that night. 12:47 a.m. Tick. Tock. The clatter of his heels against the floor joined the ticking sound. The snap of his tongue soon followed as well. He frowned and stopped all of his tics in the blink of an eye. Darn it! He didn’t quite understand why he was so anxious. It was just a simple mission after all—

A squeak startled him. Then he heard it, the _click_ of the lock, the sound of the door opening and closing, someone else’s heavy breathing and the beat of his own heart rumbling erratically against the walls of his chest.

Vulpes sat up slowly and headed for the stairs. The outsider’s steps grabbed hold of something in his chest and squeezed hard, making it difficult for him to breathe. His throat felt raw, dry and he couldn’t help but feeling extremely fatigued. He stepped forward, groped for the first step, and started to go down. And then he went for the second and for the third. He paused. Down the fourth. A longer pause. He descended the fifth without the slightest idea of what was going to happen. At the sixth he realized that he didn’t enjoy that feeling at all. The feeling of doing something that was not meticulously studied or planned. His legs kept moving into the deepening darkness, refusing to listen to his brain. He ended up facing a confused Courier standing at the end of the stairs. He braced his shoulders back. He didn’t have anything prepared. He didn’t know what to say. However, he found himself facing her and removing the headwear that hid his face without hesitation.

“It’s you…” she muttered after what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence. The wrinkles that formed on her forehead revealed her bewilderment. “Vulpes.”

His stomach knotted. Hearing his name from her lips made him want to run away. It was a strange feeling, alien. It was something totally new to him. And, like every human being, he hated the unknown.

“I know what you intend to do,” he finally whispered, descending another step. “I want you to stop sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong,” he ordered and stepped down again. “I don’t want you to put the plan in danger.”

His last request had been like a plea, oozing clemency, imploring mercy. He swallowed hard and prayed that he had not given himself away.

“And who do you think you are? Now, look, you don’t have the right to ask for anything,” she replied, raising her voice. She climbed one step. “I thought I made myself very clear in The Fort. I’m not going to collaborate with you guys,” then another one. “I’m going to do whatever the fuck I think’s best for everybody. No matter what you or your lord say.”

“Frankly, I don’t think you’ll last talking like that. You would make a terrible slave.”

“What the—are you deaf or what!? I've already told you. No! No, I will not submit! I will not submit to _you_!”

“Perfect. I prefer them quiet and obedient.”

The Courier stared straight ahead, his cold gaze meeting hers. Both had ascended and descended enough steps and now they were the same height level, face to face. In their current position, neither he could look at her over his shoulder, nor she could throw arrogant tantrums around—they were equal.

She pressed her lips together and analysed the legionary. He was young and handsome. The light of the moon bathed the room with a soft silver flash, illuminating the perfect symmetry of his features. His cheekbones were strong and prominent, he had a sharp, masculine chin and his hair was the same colour as the Mojave’s sand. But, of all his features, the one that draw the most attention was definitely his gaze.

Dark and dangerous, like a Freeside alley at nightfall. Cold and hard, like an ice floe. Six imagined that many people would feel intimidated by him, but she was different, in a way that neither of them would know how to explain. She continued to observe him carefully, breathing rapidly; the smell of oxidized metal mixing with his, strong and manly.

“You’re not the traitor Hsu is looking for, are you?” she asked softly in a somewhat hoarse voice. “I’ve heard many stories about you… I know what you’re capable of. If you wanted to stop me you would have done it a long time ago. You have an entire army at your disposal for that, after all.”

Six frowned, frustrated. It didn't make any sense. She suppressed a snort and asked her question. “What have you come to say to me?” now she was the one begging. “Tell me, Vulpes; what do you _really_ want?”

The Frumentarius remained motionless in the same place like a marble statue. His face was devoid of emotion and not a single pore in his body responded. Nothing on him worked in the right way—in his favourite form, in the way it should work. Then, the million-dollar question arose. The one he didn’t have an answer for. What had he come to tell her? What was it that he _really_ wanted?

“Nothing,” he mused. And slowly he extended his hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb, bringing her mouth to his lips with unlikely delicacy, brushing them.

“Liar.”

She mumbled, almost out of breath, her own breathing mixing with his. From the very same day she met him, Six knew she was doomed. It had been several months ago in Nipton. He was tall, quite pale for someone that spent most of his life roaming the Mojave and with stormy blue eyes that seemed to contain a melting glacier. Then she thought that she didn’t care. She simply didn't care about anything anymore. She didn’t give a shit about him being a Legion’s officer or the fact that she had almost blew one of his men’s cover. Nothing mattered to her now. Without thinking twice, the Courier held on to the lapels of his uniform and sealed her lips with his.

And thus, for a fraction of a second nothing else mattered.

 

##

 

Vulpes found himself leaning forward as well, his body craving a closer connection to her, bringing their lips together. Then, he simply let himself be carried away. Lean, strong fingers spread across her cheekbone until he grasped her chin in a firmly hold so she couldn’t turn away. A burning sensation ignited across his skin and then, writhing beneath him, she whispered his name again between soft moans. He slipped the hand that caressed her cheek and sank his fingers into her soft, tangled hair. Meanwhile his other arm slid around her waist, his hand splaying just above the curve of her hips, shortening the distance between them.

He kissed her as if he were starving. As if the world were going to end at that precise moment. As if that was what he had been waiting for all his life. And you know what? Funny thing is that he noticed that, perhaps, that’s how it was.

He felt her arms circling his neck, pulling him closer to her. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, seeking, invading, conquering. His tongue pushed past her slightly parted lips, demanding entrance and the hand that rested on his waist slid down her back, up and down, until he settled right above her buttock, caressing her. Six shuddered, but that movement only reinforced her self-confidence. In an impulsive and risky gesture, she placed her hand on the prominent bulge that grew behind the zipper of his pants. She continued savouring him with short, agitated kisses, while tracing the line of his erection with her fingers, pressing her thumb against the tip before sliding back along his length. Vulpes groaned, perhaps with satisfaction, perhaps because of the dark, possessive feelings of lust boiling beneath his surface, straining to erupt. It was impossible to know, his voice drowned in his throat, in an incoherent murmur of excitement.

The Courier stopped, moving away from his lips to focus on his neck, on that perfectly defined Adam’s apple that trembled with each touch and stroke. His muscles convulsed slightly as those nimble fingers unzipped his pants, grazing the full length of his throbbing limb.

He hissed. She smiled. He was in good in hands—in hers. Six gave a slight laugh and placed butterfly kisses across his jaw while her hand continued to caress him.

The legionary closed his eyes, losing himself to her touch and the warm perfume of his own arousal. He captured her lips again, kissing her long and fiercely. He slid his hands under her shirt, letting his fingers travel up her silky skin, analysing each vertebra in her back, tapping each rib of her abdomen, exploring the undercurve of her soft breasts.

Nothing in him wanted to be separated from her. Nothing in him wanted to stop. No matter how much his mind tried to convince himself otherwise. He wouldn’t have stopped for anything in the world…

 

And then something interrupted them. A static sound filled the air, rumbling against the walls of the tower, and a distorted voice blared through the two-way radio. The Courier cleared her throat and Vulpes stepped out of their embrace, startled by the interruption. He pulled away from her as if her touch burnt him and hurried up the stairs to the main control panel. Between interference and interference, Six managed to hear that voice that fluctuated around her, rolling over and receding again, like waves. And then, his. That was when she realized that they were speaking in Latin. She frowned and tweaked her shirt, feeling stupid. But she felt even more out of place and ridiculous when the legionary reappeared after a few minutes with his usual expressionless face, as if nothing had happened. And now what? What were they supposed to do? What were they supposed to say?

“ _Nothing_ ,” he seemed to want to say, as if he had read her thoughts.

“ _Liar_ ,” she wanted to reply, shooting him a look full of disappointment.

 

Lies. _Of course_ ; silly her! After all, the Frumentarii were the diplomats of lies. _Spies, saboteurs and murderers_ , she remembered. _And liars_. The Courier looked away and clenched her fists. And she had been stupid enough to have allowed herself to let down her guard with the best of them. With the biggest liar of them all.

She lifted her gaze to meet Vulpes’. His pale eyes were fixed on her and Six felt a chill of unease stroke against her heart. She lost her train of thought and felt herself colouring in confusion beneath those dark and dangerous blue orbs.

“Caesar has ears and eyes all over the Mojave. I trust that you will act according to the consequences,” he finally murmured, turning away from her. Then he went to the door, noticing the grimace that had cut deeply into her face. **Disgust**. Her expression reminded him of Gomorrah’s baths. His lips curled into a frown as he remembered it. Back then, Vulpes didn’t know what was more unpleasant for him. But now he had his answer.

_Well, Inculta? What do you find most disgusting? To kiss her or to spit on her?_

Neither one nor the other. What disgusted him most was the way his body trembled at her touch and how his heart pounded whenever she was close. What disgusted him most was his own _so-called_ feelings. It wasn’t like him at all. He didn’t recognize himself. And it disgusted him.

And then he had his answer.

_What do you find most disgusting?_

Easy.

 

Himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was previously known as “Dominance” but I decided to change the title as the first one was a mistranslation of the word that I really wanted to use. “Constraints” fits better the overall message. Thanks and sorry!
> 
> Plus, Vulpes is blond because of the concept art and because the mods I play with.
> 
> Oh, and new summary is new! :D


End file.
